


Barfuß Am Klavier (Barfuss Am Klavier)

by HolliTheGay



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, But you can take it as figurative if you want to, Germany plays the piano now I guess, I didn't use names, I'm not kidding this thing is really vague, Implied mental illness, Italy may have a mental illness, Like it's only vaguely mentioned once, Like you can apply this fic to almost anyone, M/M, POV First Person, POV Germany (Hetalia), Rough translation of German, Song Lyrics, Song fic, happy end, implied self harm, implied sex, maybe twice, really vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 18:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13254042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolliTheGay/pseuds/HolliTheGay
Summary: I’m sitting again…barefoot at the piano.I dream of love songs in which I sing to you.





	Barfuß Am Klavier (Barfuss Am Klavier)

**Author's Note:**

> So this will be my first fic on ao3 ever and I really hope you guys like it. I didn't really write it to be published, but it's like the only fic I have ever finished and I wrote it all in one sitting to get out some feelings. Like it said in the tags, you can apply this fic to almost anyone because of the way I wrote it, but I intended for it to be a gerita. I actually wrote this two years ago, but I only now got the courage to post it. I guess I'm a little late to the hetalia fic craze, huh? Oh well. 
> 
> Anyways. I hope you enjoy this fic and if you want to listen along to the song it's based off of you can listen to it here. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tERRFWuYG48
> 
> It is Barfuß Am Klavier by AnnenMayKantereit.

Und ich sitz schon wieder…barfuß am Klavier. Ich träuma liebeslieder und sing dabei von dir.

I’m sitting again…barefoot at the piano. I dream of love songs in which I sing to you. Even as you slumber the day away, I improvise verses and chords in which to express myself. It’s not as if you haven’t seen me play before... but this would be different. You’ve only seen me play classical music or jazz, but this…this is to be my own composition…I’d like it to be my best expression of how I feel. I only wish for you to smile even brighter as I set in lyrics.., but what to write? How do I tell you how much I love you…how much I care about you…? I can’t seem to put my thoughts into words and even if I could, they would sound awkward. Maybe I could think about this poetically. I brush my fingers along smooth, worn down keys, losing their paint as I attempt to think of what to write down. Every thought is so overly cheesy or it’s been done before and it doesn’t feel authentic. As the bedroom door creaks open and I see you rub your sleepy eyes and smile, I stand from my position at the bench and pad quietly over to the kitchen to make you a plate of the already prepared dinner. I had finished it about an hour ago and the red tomato sauce has been on simmer while the sweet noodles keep their warmth with a cover. I garnish it how you always do and set it on the kitchen table. And when you smile up at me and thank me for the food, I nod quietly and arrange my own meal, ruffling your sleep ridden locks of reddish-brown. I ask about how you slept and you lean in to me and mumble your imaginings. How do I find lyrics to describe this perfection to you?

Und du und ich…wir waren wunderlich. Nicht für mich, für die, die es store, wenn man uns nachts hörte.

And you and I…We are weird. We do little things that others don’t. Even before you gradually moved in of your own accord, we seem to have proclaimed love to each other; indirectly. We already did things in such a way that others might’ve already thought we were in a relationship; and maybe we were. We didn’t know we were, but things were already so comfortable and close…I almost don’t know when we began down this romantic relationship. It seems to have been for as long as I’ve known you. We are not weird to me. We are not weird to you, but to others we are the strangest. I must ask you; do you remember the night when the woman in the apartment next to ours heard us one night. We were merely playing a game, a card game no less, but I suppose the alcohol didn’t help with noise level. She assumed it was something much more intimate and complained about it. I remember that we both laughed so much that we rolled around on the couch and ended up tangled together. That woman wasn’t entirely wrong…she simply mistimed when to complain about us. Yes. We seem to be strange in the eyes of others…and yet…I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Ich hab mit dir gemeinsam einsam rumgesessen und geschwiegen. Ich erinner mich am besten ans gemeinsam einsam liegen,

I sat around with you lonely and quiet. I remember it best as lying lonely together. This was when we would have fights…verbally or physically it didn’t matter. We would lie down on the floor and simply stare at the ceiling, carefully thinking over what to say next. Sometimes it would take hours. Other times it would only take a few minutes before one of us broke down and apologized, sorrowfully describing what they had meant in a calm, yet trembling voice…as if we were afraid it would lead to another fight. We take turns discussing what we want and what we’re comfortable with as we work to find a happy medium. Compromise and communication are key and I’d say we have a decent system. This lonely sitting and rational explanation only continue to deepen our relationship and at each fight I feel myself holding my breath and hoping that this doesn’t come crashing down. This one tie between us is the most emotionally involved affiliation I have ever had and I wish for it to remain a healthy bond. Compromise isn’t easy and I silently applaud how you always try something new for the sake of saving this. I wish to describe this to you as I sit...barefoot at the piano once again. 

Jeden Morgen und danach bei dir, du nackt im Bett und ich barfuß am Klavier.

Every morning I smile at how you sleep. I stretch and brush the hair out of your eyes. It’s a mystery to me as to why you prefer to sleep this way, but you always seem to sleep unclothed and curled into my chest. It’s childish, but oh so comfortable and twice as warm as a night alone. I don’t mind your childish behavior, so as you slumber aimlessly, naked and entangled in sheets, I sit barefoot at the piano and tap slow rhythms out on the keys. I skillfully glide my hands along the Ivory and take in the feeling of early morning light as its glimmering beams hit the floor and small patches of my skin. This is secretly my favorite time of day; the quiet mornings where only soft rustles of leaves can be heard and the most comforting light shines through the translucent tapestries and the small lunette glass above the door. It is our second year living together in this new house. No more city apartment, but rather a large house in the countryside. It’s nice…much quieter than that of the city; much more spacious, yet cozy. It seems as though there is so much to explore and yet it’s almost as if I know every corner of the home by now. I play quietly as not to wake you and I hum softly, still no coherent thoughts manifesting and morphing into words. I’m sure I’ll get there eventually so I think maybe I’ll have a cup of coffee now. I’m sure you’ll want one when you smell it upon waking. The lyrics can wait.

Und ich sitz schon wieder barfuß am Klavier. Ich trauma liebeslieder und sing dabeivon Dir. Und du und ich es ging so nicht.

I’m sitting barefoot at the piano again, still dreaming of love songs in which I sing of you, but this time is different. You aren’t here anymore. You and I…we didn’t work out. Our fights were too frequent and our beliefs too strong. It’s a shame that you’ve gone because I finished our song. That song I’d been pondering for nearly three years…it’s invaded my mind and so I continue to play, singing on and on about a love that is no longer in this house. Some fights had no compromise; no apologetic ending to long night of staring at nothing in particular. I am alone in this large house and without you here I am finding it to be larger than I had initially thought. I know all the reasons you left and all the reasons you wished you could stay, but in the end the reasons to stay only faded away, leaving scars in their place. I was not blind. The wounds were there, staining your freckled, tanned skin. If I’d known sooner how horrible you’d been feeling I’d have tried harder to help, but by the time those scars came into focus you simply wanted out. And so I let you leave, but I did not let you leave alone. I only want what is best for you. Your family took you away, leaving some of your things to sit in this house that is no longer a home. They sit and collect the dust that floats past in the harsh early morning rays of light. This has secretly become the time of day that I dread the most and I would prefer to sleep through it, but something draws me out of slumber and I sit in my usual place at the bench, stumbling over keys with muscle memory of the song you never got to hear.  
Du wolltest alles wissen und das hat mich vertrieben eigentlich dich, du bist nicht länger gebliebem bei mir. Und so sitz ich, um zu leben lieber barfuß am Klavier.  
You wanted to know everything and that drove me away or rather…when I wouldn’t say, you didn’t stay longer with me. It’s been a few months and still I sit barefoot at the piano just to feel alive again. For you this separation was most likely relief, but for me it has been nothing, but grief. And I don’t mind carrying this burden for your sake, but I wish that I could’ve shouldered this weight before it crushed you. This heavy emotional baggage is no light burden and I will carry it for you until the day I die. I wonder…do you remember the day you told me that if I live to be one-hundred you would still be there smiling and cooking your famous pasta. I am curious as to whether that promise is still true and if you will still make me a pasta dinner for my one-hundredth birthday. So until then I will play this song for you and dream of more love songs in which I sing of you. 

Und ich sitz schon wieder barfuß am Klavier. Ich träume liebeslieder und sing dabei von Dir. Und du und ich…das war zu wenig…

It’s been a year since you moved out. I see you every now and then and we can still talk and laugh about certain things. Your scars are faded now, but you still seem anxious if we’re alone together. We cannot do any of the things we used to without awkward silence creeping in; playing cards while drunk and angering the neighbors or just watching a movie sitting on the same couch. Everything seems to be awkward now. I quietly ask if your promise still holds true, even though I am not even forty yet. Neigh not even half way there, but none the less I am curious. You stare at me for a second with disbelief glazing your honey golden eyes and you smile and laugh and hug me as if nothing had ever happened. And then you straighten up and quiet your laughter. You answer with a softly spoken “Of course.” And relief washes over me as I can see hope for comfortable friendship in the future. Maybe you’ll forgive me and want to start things fresh and move back in to where things had been so good, but then I feel as though I am only imagining a fantasy. I shouldn’t set my hopes that high…

Und ich sitz schon wieder barfuß am Klavier. Ich träume liebeslieder und sing dabei von Dir.

If I only want to make you happy again then why do I selfishly want to sing you our song. It’s been two years and we are comfortable again in a friendly bond and I only wish I could say that I’m content with that, that I wish I didn’t yearn for more. I stop you before you can tell me another story, heart pounding. I apologize after seeing your glances of concern. You shake your head and ask me what is wrong, but I grab your wrist gently and lead you to the room where the dusty piano rests. I tell you that I wrote you a song and that I’ve been waiting to play it for a few years now. I turn to the keys so I don’t have to look at the baffled expression on your face. I ask you not to cry or refuse to listen because it took me a very long time to write and I just need your to hear it this once. And so here I go…

Ich träum dabei von dir…

You haven’t run off yet, but I can hear your quiet sniffles and I know without having to look that you’ve started to cry. None the less I keep going. I sing crisply and clearly with passion and I have added verses to this song since you left, mentally erasing others to make the song flow more naturally. If you didn’t know German this whole event would’ve been more of an amusement for you as you wouldn’t have known I’d written this song for you, but I know you understand. I know that you are hearing each carefully planned word ooze from my mouth and when I finish and lift my foot slowly off the damper pedal in time with my fingers from the final chord, I find myself not wanting to turn and fearing a disgusted look from you. I wait for a moment, half expecting you to hit me, but it never comes. I slowly turn and I see the tears streaking your rosy cheeks and you are frantically trying to wipe them away. I frown in concern and hope that you do not hate me. 

Ich träum dabei von dir…

As I stand you leap forward and hug me tightly, thanking me for the song and apologizing for leaving me. I tell you that you don’t have to change your mind; that we can remain friends and that I only wanted for you to hear the song because if you hadn’t it would’ve eaten me alive. You nod into my chest and look up at me muttering that two years has been long enough and that you wish to begin anew. You whisper that you won’t move in right away because you’re scared that things will crash again and I agree silently, stroking your hair. It would’ve scared me too. You ask me for the title of the song. And I realize that everyday I’d played it and I’d written about what I was doing and never once thought of a title…

 

Barfuß Am Klavier… 

 

I think for a moment and decide to title the arrangement based on the main focus of the song and the lyrics of the chorus. I speak softly into your hair, “Barfuß Am Klavier…Barefoot at the Piano”.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that really vague and kind of confusing blurb. If you liked it, leave me a comment or a kudos or something. It would mean a lot. If you didn't...sorry I guess. Tell me why. I don't care. I'm not a writer I'm a painter. This will probably be the only fic I ever post, but if you guys want more I might write another. 
> 
> maybe.


End file.
